Four times Sam hugged Dean and the one he didn't
by Ophium
Summary: Five things-fic, various characters. Hugs, secrets and moments.
1. Four times Sam hugged Dean

**Four times Sam hugged Dean and the one he didn't**

* * *

Dean blinked, drops of water falling from his eyes and catching the light of the setting sun. His breath caught in his throat, angry words of guilt drifting in the wind.

Sam had every right to walk away now. To extract his revenge for a lost father by leaving.

This was Dean's fault, Dean's sin, and he expected no forgiveness.

The feeling of warm arms circling his shoulders came as a surprise, Sam's larger body engulfing him and allowing the last remains of fear to melt away.

"I'm here, Dean... let me share the burden."

And Dean let himself fall.

* * *

"It wasn't real... none of it was real," Dean whispered, voice rough from the too long denied tears. "But it felt so... authentic, so true."

"It was make believe, Dean... you wouldn't be happy like that," Sam whispered back, because any louder sound would certainly break Dean's fragile confidence.

"I'm not happy like this," Dean confessed, face looking down allowing the tear tracks to race straight to the floor. "I can never be."

Sam's arms were strong and tight when he gathered his brother against his chest and hugged him. "I'm real... I'm here."

And Dean grabbed on to that.

* * *

"It's over."

"It's never over."

"Yellow eyes is dead, you're alive, dad's out of Hell... it's good for me."

Sam did replied. He simply pulled his brother in to his embrace and held on tight. Dean smelled of sweat and blood, and graveyard dirt and gun oil and home. There were no sweeter smells on earth. Love and family.

Rigid and ready to push him away at first, Sam could feel when Dean finally melted in to the forced contact and finally gave in, leaning his still bleeding head against Sam's shoulder. "We have a year, Dean... it's not over."

* * *

"It's still bleeding."

"Yeah, well... bastard had sharp teeth, what can I say? Besides, your hands are a mess too."

Sam looked at his blood-covered fingers. He couldn't tell which was his and which was Gordon's. For all he knew, he'd already been infected by the vampire-virus. He looked at Dean, silent by his side, catching his breath. In a less than a year, Dean would be dead. And Sam might be a vampire. Immortal.

When Sam grabbed Dean's bloody neck and pulled his brother in to a hug, it might have been mistaken for love. But it was despair.

* * *

Dean's breath catches as the final words leave his mouth, tears like rivers running down his face. He wishes he couldn't feel a thing and if there was one wish that Sam could grant his tormented brother, that would be it.

But Sam can't grant wishes and, no matter how hard his heart breaks at seeing Dean's pain, Sam knows that he will never be able to understand what he went through, how it feels to be Dean.

The one thing Sam can do is refrain himself. He doesn't hug Dean. He doesn't offer a word. He drinks his beer.


	2. Five secrets that no one will ever know

**Five secrets that no one will ever know, until they do**

* * *

Bobby has a secret. His kitchen is a mess, half his pots and pans are dented or rusted, or both. But his pie form? That's in top-notch condition.

He hides it from view, stashed behind a pot greasy enough to give someone a coronary just from holding it; gets it out a couple of hours before Sam and Dean show up.

"I don't get it," Dean mumbles around a mouthful of his third apple-pie slice. "Where do you get these awesome pies, here, in the middle of nowhere?"

Bobby smiles knowingly, cutting a piece for himself. "Home delivery."

* * *

There's a file on the computer that has no name. Its password locked and hidden in the spam files.

The fact that a password is involved is enough to catch Dean's attention. Sam being the computer wizard of the family means only that it takes Dean thirty minutes to do what Sam would've done in twenty. The password is Gesundheit, which for some reason or another, strikes Dean as odd.

Until he sees the pictures of women in slutty dirndls. Sculptured blond women mostly wearing (and some not even that) German traditional clothing.

Sam's porn stash is weird like that.

* * *

John closes the phone and pushed it inside his pocket. A hole Sam-sized is draining his heart of life and he's not exactly sure where Dean's at, but he's pretty sure that he ain't sober by now.

Adam's birthday is new week and he wasn't going to go. He changed his mind now. His youngest slammed the door on his face to go to college and his oldest won't ever leave, but is slowly breaking apart and Adam... Adam's his do-over. John's chance to be a father.

John packs his bags and doesn't wait for Dean to come back.

* * *

They drew straws this time. Which is why Dean's stuck in the library and Sam's out there, interviewing the victims.

There's already a pile of books on the table and Dean's eyes are tearing up. He looks around, makes sure that no one is paying attention to his corner of the world and grabs his backpack. Side pocket, hidden by the two extra clips of 9 mms rounds, there's a hard grey case, size of a opened hand.

Dean opens the case and slips the glasses on his face, sighting in relief when the words finally come in to focus.

* * *

Dean wasn't part of the plan. Lilith had promised her that the pesky older brother was taken cared of.

But when she opens the door to finally get the pizzas they've been waiting forever to get there, it's not pizza-boy who greets her.

It's him.

The pain in her ass.

The whole reason why she was forced to play dumb and submissive to Sam for longer that she would ever wished for. Ruby had really thought that things would go easier now.

Staring at the weirded out face of stupid, dickless Dean, she can see that she was clearly wrong.


	3. Three people John knew

**Three people John knew, and one he never did**

* * *

The man stands out when all the remaining church's pews are empty. In all truth, the man stood out before.

There wasn't any one thing particular about him, but his presence was impossible to ignore. The scruffy bearded face, the guarded eyes, the tense shoulders. This man was menacing, a soldier. Possibly both.

There was a baby on his lap and a small, blond kid sleeping against his side. "You Pastor James?" He asked me without moving much.

"I am," I answered, moving closer. The baby's eyes were closed as well.

"Bobby sent me."

A hunter. One more life ruined.

* * *

The roar of the engine sets the dogs on a frenzy. I look out the window and see a black, shiny monster parking right in front of my porch. The man who steps out looks like a damn quarterback looking for a body count.

"You Bobby Singer?" He calls out, sharp eyes catching my shadow against the window.

I open the door, riffle lazily draped over my elbow. "Depends on who's asking."

"My name is John Winchester," He says, like that is supposed to mean anything to me. "Missouri sent me."

She had called. I was just expecting someone... older.

* * *

"I know why you are here," the plump black woman said as soon as he was out the car.

"Good... then I wont have to go through all the details all over again. Not with them here."

Missouri looked at the two boys, one curled around the man's leg, the other curled against his chest. "What I don't know is why THEY're here."

John looked at his sons, Dean's green eyes meeting his, not in question of what they were doing there, but in fear. Always in fear these days. "They're with me."

Missouri nodded. "That's what I'm afraid of."

* * *

"Angels are watching over you," Mary whispered as she kissed her son's head.

"I don't see 'em mommy."

"You don't need to see them, sweetie... sometimes, you just have to believe it."

Three year old Dean bit his lip, tiny hands gripping his bed covers tightly. "They're there all the time?"

"All the time."

"Even when I'm being naughty?"

Mary smiled and turned off the light. "Yes, even then."

Alone in the room, Dean looked at the empty dark corner. "You can watch... just don't tell anyone."

Castiel smiled and nodded, even though the promise was only his to know.


	4. Four conversations

**Four conversations that probably happened and two that probably never will**

* * *

If there was one thing in common that all the other kids had, it was their presence. All sizes and colors. Brunettes, blonds, red-hairs, real color, bottle colors, tall, short, fat, slim and even a couple of downright anorectics. All moms. All there for their kids first day at school.

"You all right there, champ?"

"I wanna go home dad," Dean replied, resisting the urge to stick his finger inside his mouth and suck.

"You'll do fine, buddy," John said with a smile. "You're a Winchester!"

Yeah... he was. And that meant he would never be like them.

* * *

Sam looked from under his bangs and stuck his finger in his mouth.

"I don't like them," he announced sullenly.

"You don't have to like them," Dean reassured him. "Besides, you love learning."

Sam's eyes lit up as he remembered why he was there. He did love learning new stuff, but... "Will you be here?"

Dean looked at his own class room, four doors away. Miss Dyrt was already giving him grief over the lack of school books, but the look on Sam's eyes...

"Sure kid... I'll be right outside, waiting for you."

"Like a guard?"

_Like a brother._

* * *

"You coming over to Porky's after?"

Sam took the square hat from his head and dropped it on the empty seat beside him. It was hot as hell and with a name as Winchester, in a highschool that big, he was in for a long wait. "Nope."

"But EVERYONE's going," his class mate whined, gown too big for his frame dragging leaves around him on the grassy ground. "Family celebrations can wait for later... Porky's is just for us!"

It wasn't... not when your dad's leg is broken and your brother is still recovering from a near-death brush with pneumonia.

* * *

The knife's cold against his fingers, which, really, makes no sense. Not in here, not in this place where even the air melts skin.

"You've made your choice, boy," Alistair hisses against his face, horns prickling against his ears. "You backing out now?"

Dean looks at the empty rack. He can almost see himself there. Naked, bleeding, begging.

He looks down, knife gripped tight, red sweat running down his face and dripping over the body of his first victim.

It's kind of fitting, if he were to mind those things, that the first would be her. Bela's first scream hurts.

* * *

They were not quite white, but not quite grey either. The fluff and puff of soft feathers served only to rustle up the dust inside the room and strengthen the might of his sneeze. "Damn it!" Dean blared for what seemed like the hundredth time. "There has to be some frigging way to keep these GODDAMN HEALTH HAZARDS under control!"

Castiel frowned at the blasphemy but offered no help whatsoever. "_Angel teleportation sucks ass_, I believe were your exacts words. This... this is an acceptable alternative."

Dean scowl, testing how flexible his new, unrequired, wings were, before replying. "You suck!"

* * *

"Ask me anything you want"

"Anything at all?"

"Anything"

"Is there a catch?"

"No catch"

"No strings either?"

"Trust me... ask what you want, what your heart wishes for, and it shall be granted"

"And if I ask for a one night-stand with Cindy Crawford?"

"You wouldn't ask for that"

"You're minion, Zach, thought I would... or something like that"

"Zach was a bad... apple"

"Apple... eh... you're a funny guy"

"I try... do you know what you want?"

"I do"

"So, ask away"

"I wish that none of this ever came happened"

"You sure?"

"I am"

"So be it"


	5. Four funny situations

**Four funny situations, one that shouldn't really be and one that isn't at all**

* * *

"How bad is it?"

"Bad enough," Dean replied, eyes scrunched shut in pain.

"I'm driving as fast as I can," Sam assured him, casting one concerned look at the contorting brother by his side.

"Watch the road... I'll still look the same whether you're staring at me or not," Dean complained.

"Ok, ok... it's just that..."

"That what?"

"You look funny like that," Sam said, most defiantly not staring his brother.

"Laugh it up princess... next time a witch curses us, I'm stepping behind your gigantic ass."

"Come on... it looks funny."

"It's a banana... on my nose.... NOT FUNNY!"

* * *

The water spirit wasn't that much of a bother and the room was covered until the end of the week. It wasn't vacations for the Winchesters, but it came pretty damn near.

"Watch out for Sammy," John warned his older son. "Plenty of sunblock and no swimming past where I can see you two!"

"Yes, sir!" Dean said with a beaming smile so wide that managed to reflect the sunlight in his teeth.

It was a good day. Dean came back lobster-red, Sam was dead on his feet and John had sand in unmentionable places. But ice-cream heals it all.

* * *

How could people ride those things was beyond Dean's understanding.  
The seats were scratchy, the leg-room was inexistent and the guy seating next to him smelled like stale garlic. Also, he might be slightly gay, unless staring at the person next to you and asking for their phone number in five different manners were normal occurrences in bus drives.

But dad's truck was busted, and Dean had been 'de-aged' to fifteen, with no wheels of his own while dad was working a case.

And Sam's appendix had filled for a divorce, landing his kid brother in the hospital. Fun times!

* * *

Ronald peeled his banana and took an angry bite. Bastard, gigantic asses, sons of bitches, stupid feds! What business did they have to come to his home and steal the hard evidence that he had collected? Probably were in on it too, those two pretentious shmucks, with their 'evidence in an ongoing investigation'...

MANDROID MINIONS! That's what they were. Oh! Oh... maybe they were mandroids too, with their too perfect jaws and flawless skins... Ronald, you're an idiot! Biggest chance of proving that all of your theories were right and you kick them out of your house. That's just perfect...

* * *

There was miserable, and then there was Winchester miserable.

Common person with a cold, gets a runny nose, spends a whole lot of Kleenex, sneezes, gets maybe a bit of a headache and a touch of fever. They feel miserable, granted, but they live.

Winchesters wait until they're in the middle of the harshest of Winters, in the worst of blizzards, practically buried in freezing snow, trapped in a ramshackle cabin who's fireplace doesn't work, completely outside cell phone coverage.

"Atchiiim!"

"Tell me that was not a sneeze, Sam."

Sam, the red nose Winchester, remained silent. Until he sneezed again.

* * *

Mary stabbed the pumpkin like the vegetable was her worst enemy. She hated Halloween, the night that celebrated all the freaks that her family had dedicated themselves to hunt. That they'd given their lives to hunt.

"Hey honey... I think that pumpkin gave her last breath some five stabs ago..."

Mary looked at the mess in her kitchen counter and dropped the orange stained knife. John's hands were warm against her swollen belly, caressing their firstborn. "You ok?"

Mary looked away from the mutilated pumpkin and back at her husband's hands. Ten years were still far away. There was time.


End file.
